The Meeting of Beleg and Gwindor
by Galenfea
Summary: Beleg staying his steps beside the sleeper saw that it was an Elf.' The Silmarillion. My attempt at the meeting of Beleg and Gwindor in the forest of Taurnafuin. No slash or silliness I hope


_Wish I owned them, they're two of my favorite characters, but I don't._

_NB: This is actually somewhat closer to the version of the story given in The Lays of Beleriand (HoME 3). Key ideas such as Gwindor's lamp come from this, just so you know I haven't completely made them up!_

Beleg leant back against a tree trunk and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He was lost. He knew he was lost. He hated it, but it was so.

For a moment more, he sat there, then opened his eyes again and started to get up for another attempt at finding a way out of this accursed forest. Suddenly he froze as he caught sight of a light burning in the darkness. A firefly, perhaps? But no, it was too large, too bright. It had to be a lamp.

Silently, Beleg crept through the darkness of Taur-nu-fuin until he could see clearly. It was a little blue-shining lamp, and beside it lay its owner, a thin figure covered by a ragged pelt. The pelt had also apparently covered the lamp, but had slipped off.

Beleg went a little closer, and saw that the sleeper was an Elf. He looked hunted and hungry, and the lines on his face were thrown into sharp relief by the light of his lamp. Beleg felt sorry for him, and was loath to leave him here. Who knew what deadly enchantments walked this Eru-forsaken place? Not to mention the orcs that he himsElf was searching for.

"Wake up!" he called softly, creeping forwards and reaching out to touch the Elf's shoulder. "This is no place for an Elf to rest!"

Hearing his voice, the Elf sprang up, and would have fled, but Beleg caught his arm, and tried to calm him.

"Daro, mellon nin! Avo 'osto!"

On hearing the Elvish speech, the Elf stopped, staring at Beleg in surprise and fear. He stepped back down into the hollow where he had slept and picked up his lamp so that he could see better, holding it up as he sat down wearily on a great protruding root.

"Who are you?" he breathed. "An Elf, as you seem, or some phantom sent to ensnare the unwary?"

"The former." Beleg sat down opposite him. "I am Beleg Cúthalion of Doriath." He took out some of the lembas that Melian had given him, and offered it to the Elf. "Here, you look hungry. What is your name? What evil fortune brought you here?"

The Elf took the offered food and bit into the corner hungrily. "Hannon le. My name…" He sighed heavily. "Once, it was Gwindor, son of Guilin, of Nargothrond."

Beleg's heart skipped a beat as he looked at the fearful, half-starved Elf that sat before him. He had never met Gwindor himself, but he had heard many tales of that brave captain of Nargothrond, who had gone to the Nirnaeth against the will of his king and had come to the very gates of Angband before being overwhelmed. He and Mablung, alone of their people, had gone to that dreadful battle, and he well remembered the charge, led by Gwindor and the company from Nargothrond. And now here was a mere shadow of Gwindor, son of Guilin: just a bent-backed thrall of Morgoth.

Gwindor apparently hadn't noticed Beleg's mournful reverie. He nibbled the last crumbs of lembas, making them last, then pulled his makeshift cloak closer around his shoulders. From this angle, Beleg could see – much to his distaste – that it was an almost entire wolf-skin. He didn't like to think where Gwindor had found it, or how cold he must have been to decide to use the revolting thing as a cloak.

"How did you escape from Angband?" Beleg asked suddenly, inwardly berating himself for the question. "How did you come to be here?" But perhaps the information might help him in his search for Túrin.

Gwindor shivered a little at the memory of the mines where he had spent so long as a slave. "Well, all the mountains are riddled with tunnels now. Most of them are guarded, but there are some that only we, the imprisoned Elves, know of. I was one of the fortunate ones who, upon deciding to make for one of these and attempt an escape, actually made it out." He shuddered again.

"What is it?"

"Sorry. I was just remembering some of the things the… the fire-demons used to do to those that the orcs found trying to escape. They did not spoil their usefulness as thralls, but it was definitely not pretty. Anyway…" He seemed to deliberately wrench his mind away from the memories. "I traveled at night, through the foothills of the mountains. I have rarely been so grateful for a lamp to guide my feet as I was during those nights." He touched the wolf-hide, and continued, "I picked this up then too. It is cold in the mountains at night, and the day was little warmer, for the face of Anar was veiled. I know not where it came from. Perhaps some orc discarded it, but I cared not. And so I came, by stages, to this forest. I avoided the road, for I knew that I was not safe yet, and I was right, for it was only today that they passed through."

Beleg's ears pricked up at that. "Who?"

"A troop of orcs, with wolves among them. And they had a captive with them: a mortal man. His hands were chained, and they drove him with whips." Gwindor winced in sympathy. "Very tall he was, as tall as are the men from the misty hills of Hithlum."

Beleg's eyes lit up. "Túrin!" he gasped, "It must be! He is the one that I came here to seek; the son of Húrin of Dor-Lomin." He sighed a little, unwilling to tell the full tale of Túrin's capture. But Gwindor had told of his escape from Angband. It was only fair. "Our camp and stronghold was revealed by a traitor among us. Every man in our band was killed but the traitor, who has now fled; myself, for I was wounded and left for dead; and Túrin. Until know I did not know for certain that he had been taken, though I searched for his body and did not find it. Now I know, and can perhaps rescue him!"

"Beleg, that is a fool's errand." Gwindor reached out and gripped Beleg's wrist, as though afraid that he was going to dash off immediately. "You will just end up being taken yourself, and you will only join Túrin in the anguish that awaits him. Do not go and run willfully to death!"

"But I cannot abandon Túrin. He has been my friend since I met him in the woods, and then he was only a boy." Beleg shook off Gwindor's hand and stood up, looking out into the forest. "If you will tell me where the road lies, then I will follow them." He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. "And if that means that I too must go to Angband, then so be it."

There was a long pause. Neither Elf spoke or moved until Beleg turned to look at Gwindor again. Was he going to try again to dissuade him from his quest? The Noldo's head was bowed and he seemed to be studying his hands, which lay in his lap.

Then, suddenly, he raised his head and said, "I will come with you."

Beleg gaped at him. "You will come with me? To face the orcs? But…"

"Do not try to dissuade me now. I would far sooner turn for home, but I will not just turn and walk away. Perhaps I can help you, and in any case, I hope my company will do no harm."

Beleg smiled. And he had thought Gwindor to be a fearful shadow. Still, he had to add, "But what if we fail? What will happen to you?"

"I just hope that we will not." Gwindor closed his eyes for a moment and Beleg knew that he was remembering the balrogs once again. "If we are, you will doubtless see what happens to me. Can we not talk about it?"

"Sorry. I had to ask, just to make sure."

Gwindor climbed out of the little hollow, holding the handle of his lamp in his teeth, and Beleg followed him. Then, guided by the flickering blue light of the little lantern, the two Elves set off through the darkness, following the line of the road, heading for the orcish camp.

_Daro, mellon nin! Avo 'osto!  
Stop, my friend! Do not be afraid!_


End file.
